ard's fingers stirred the papers before him in an idle, absent
manner. Into his brooding eyes there leapt the glitter to be seen in the
eyes of the fevered of body or of mind.

"Vengeance," said he slowly, "is a dish best relished when 'tis eaten
cold." He paused an instant; then continued: "I might have crossed to
England at the time, and slain him. Should that have satisfied me? What
is death but peace and rest?"

"There is a hell, we are told," Mr. Caryll reminded him.

"Ay," was the answer, "we are told. But I dursn't risk its being false
where Ostermore is concerned. So I preferred to wait until I could brew
him such a cup of bitterness as no man ever drank ere he was glad to
die." In a quieter, retrospective voice he continued: "Had we prevailed
in the '15, I might have found a way to punish him that had been worthy
of the crime that calls for it. We did not prevail. Moreover, I was
taken, and transported.

"What think you, Justin, gave me courage to endure the rigors of the
plantations, cunning and energy to escape after five such years of it as
had assuredly killed a stronger man less strong of purpose? What but the
task that was awaiting me? It imported that I should live and be free
to call a reckoning in full with my Lord Ostermore before I go to my own
account.

"Opportunity has gone lame upon this journey. But it has arrived
at last. Unless--" He paused, his voice sank from the high note of
exaltation to which it had soared; it became charged with dread, as did
the fierce eyes with which he raked his companion's face. "Unless you
prove false to the duty that awaits you. And that I'll not believe! You
are your mother's son, Justin."

"And my father's, too," answered Justin in a thick voice; "and the Earl
of Ostermore is that same father."

"The more sweetly shall your mother be avenged," cried the other, and
again his eyes blazed with that unhealthy, fanatical light. "What
fitter than the hand of that poor lady's son to pull your father down in
ruins?" He laughed short and fiercely. "It seldom chances in this world
that justice is done so nicely."

"You hate him very deeply," said Mr. Caryll pensively, and the look in
his eyes betrayed the trend of his thoughts; they were of pity--but of
pity at the futility of such strong emotions.

"As deeply as I loved your mother, Justin." The sharp, rugged features
of that seared old face seemed of a sudden transfigured and softened.
The wild eyes lost some o